Every Team Has It's Tricks
by Selene Illusinia
Summary: [SHIELD Insanity] This is a parallel story to go with A Seasoned SHIELD Agent's Guide to Surviving at SHIELD. It's a collection of stories focusing on the relationships between different members of the team with each other and outside influences. Enjoy the additional insanity.


Knocking, measured and calm, cut through the apartment that Rowen called her own, drawing her from the careful meditation she'd been in the midst of. When Fury had moved her back to New York following the events of Loki's...bout of insanity, Rowen had taken the chance to actually take back the apartment she kept there. It was a good place to go when she actually had vacation or down time, something she was usually forced to take once a year. She was only there now because her team's training would take place at the Treskalon in New York, rather than at the Hub or on the Helicarrier. It gave her a bit more room to work with her new team and ensure their training was up to her standards. Plus, this way, if anyone on the team washed out, it would be easier to ship them elsewhere or completely remove them from SHIELD if necessary.

Another series of knocks, this one more persistent, reminded her that she had a visitor. If it was Tom, she was going to kick his arse right out of her building. He was the last persona she wanted to deal with at the moment, namely because he was either there to get in her pants or to mock her about her new assignment.

Standing, she carefully slid her sword back inside its scabbard and hopped her couch. She knew who her visitor was by scent alone as soon as she cleared the piece of furniture. It wasn't Tom, thankfully. No, this was someone she trusted, though if she really wanted his company tonight was something she couldn't be sure of. Not that she had a choice, he wasn't going to leave and she knew she wouldn't make him. It just wasn't in her.

Yanking open the heavy piece of wood, she leaned against the doorway and gave her guest her best 'this had better be good' look. She also didn't bother to suppress her accent, letting the natural Irish lilt attach itself to her words. "Jasper."

"Rowen," greeted the dry, slightly impassive older agent. Jasper Sitwell, the best interrogator in SHIELD and one of the more intimidating agents. He was up there with Phil on the dangerous scale. Except without his suit on and the set of thicker black glasses he preferred outside of work, the man looked more like an over-grown child than a scary SHIELD agent.

It was clear by the state of Jasper's sweat shirt (one of many he owned with ridiculous images of kittens and equally ridiculous phrases) along with his jeans (worn to the point of appearing to fall apart), that he was in a lounging mood. Great, she was just handed what could possibly be the worst assignment she's ever been given and her best friend decided it was a good night to kick it when she was just trying to remain calm and not quit SHIELD.

"What are you doing here, Jasper?" countered Rowen, putting on an air of irritation and continuing to block her doorway with the addition of her arms being folded beneath her chest. She'd let him in, of course. She always let Jasper in. This whole resistance thing was just a ruse and he knew it. He was the only person in SHIELD who knew everything about her.

Literally, everything at this point. He knew everything from who her parents actually were and where she was actually from to her favorite things. He also never flipped out about anyting she told him. Was he a sarcastic ass about it who sometimes teased her mercilessly about things he thought were ridiculous? Oh, complete. Did he keep every secret she told him and help her cover it when she made an error and nearly outed herself? Every time. She trusted him with everything she had to trust him with, and he'd never let her down.

"I'm here because we need to celebrate slash commiserate your new assignment," replied Jasper, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Plus, I know you. You always get mopey around this time of year and since Phil is apparently _sleeping_, I figured we'd just do it ourselves."

Sighing, Rowen stepped out of the doorway and motioned for her friend to enter. He had a point about everything and, right now, she wasn't going to turn down his company. Especially with her father still out of reach; he was the only one in the nine realms besides Phil or Jasper who could really make her smile anymore. "Just don't strip in my living room. My neighbors across the way got quite a show last time."

"I make no promises," replied Jasper dryly, waltzing into her apartment like he owned part of it. Which, at this point, he sort of did. He'd been so fed up with some of her furniture that he'd actually managed to find her new stuff. Where and how, she hadn't asked. Her and Phil were still locked in a bet on the subject, mainly because Jasper wouldn't give them a clear answer. "Besides, I thought Fae were open about nudity."

"Tuatha de Danaan," corrected Rowen simply, shaking her head. He knew correcting him about her heritage (or at least one half of it) was pointless; he knew exactly what clan she was from and just used the word 'fae' to annoy her. "I don't care if you're naked. You can dance naked through my apartment as much as you like. What I do care about is the women in the building across the way begging for your number. It's annoying. You're very lucky I'm such a good friend, otherwise I would have given it to them just to shut them up."

"Wouldn't be the first time a woman wanted to call me," pointed out Jasper. Despite the fact that he was very much into men (except for Hill, but that's a different matter entirely), Jasper was very aware of the fact that many women found him attractive. And he shamelessly used it to his advantage sometimes.

Smirking slightly, she slipped the door shut behind him and automatically flipped the locks. "They're 68 and 72 respectfully."

Jasper tripped a little at her remark, paling some. It was the only indication she would get out of him that he was shocked, surprised, or horrified. And really, it was all she needed.

"I told you I'm a good friend," stated Rowen with a laugh, patting her friend on the shoulder and slipping the bag he'd shown up with from his hand.

She didn't have to look inside to know what he'd brought: three bottles of whiskey and a bottle of bourbon. It was the standard that he brought every time he wanted to drink with her. Not being human meant she couldn't get drunk on human alcohol easily, so Jasper had started buying bottles when they were on sale and keeping a small stockpile for times when he wanted to try and get her drunk. It never worked and Jasper always ended up being the one running around like a crazy loon, but it was entertaining so Rowen saw no reason to stop it.

Heading into her kitchen, she retrieved the shot glasses Jasper had bought her when he found out she had none (three small glass ones painted with classic Celtic motifs) and grabbed one of the bottles. The other three she set on the counter. She had learned after the first time Jasper showed up at her place with hard liquor in tow that the remaining alcohol needed to be kept away from him; otherwise he somehow got drunker. She hadn't figured out how yet, but it had happened.

Jasper was sitting on the floor against her couch when she returned to the main room, making faces at his phone. It made Rowen smirk. "Did someone change your background to porn again?"

"That was you," stated Jasper knowingly. "I know that was you. I can't prove how you did it, but I know it was you."

"Maybe it was my father," challenged Rowen, still smirking slightly as she took a seat across from him on the floor. It hadn't actually been her that time; she knew better places to find higher quality porn than what had been used. Sadly, she'd never found out who was responsible. Barton and Markson had both denied involvement and she knew it wasn't actually her father. He would have done a significantly better job; something with Photoshop and a big screen monitor on the Helicarrier. "It wasn't me that time though, I swear."

"Sure it wasn't," muttered Jasper, shaking his head as he reached for the bottle of whiskey and the two glasses. Pouring the shots masterfully, he offered one to Rowen and took the other for himself, raising it up as a sign to indicate she needed to click her glass with his. "So how does it feel to be an official handler?"

"I'm still trying to figure it out," admitted Rowen, clicking her glass against his and downing the shot. The whiskey burned a little like it always did but it was no where near as uncomfortable as svartáfar alcohol. "This whole bloody thing makes no sense."

"How?" prompted Jasper, throwing back his own shot and then pouring two more for them. "You're a handler. You handle people."

Rowen rolled her eyes and downed her second shot. "That's just it, Jasper. I'm a translator, not a handler. I'm not qualified to do this. So why are they giving me a team?"

"Really, Rowen?" asked Jasper, raising an eyebrow at her in disbelief. "You really think you're only a translator?"

"I'm assigned to the translation division, Jasper," reminded Rowen with a roll of her eyes. "The most handling I've done is operatives I'm translating for during missions on foreign soil."

"And on those missions, you're in charge," pointed out Jasper, automatically pouring her another shot, his own sitting off to the side. "You're responsible for what happens out there. Responsible for the team, for making calls."

"But I don't plan the missions, Jas," argued Rowen with a shake of her head. "Yes, on the tactical level I move people around, reposition people during active missions and give orders while quasi in the field, but I'm not even field cleared so how can I actually run a team?"

Sighing, Jasper flipped open his phone with a look bordering annoyance painted across his face. "Hang on."

She shot him a concerned look, brow furrowing slightly at the sight of his phone. "I didn't hear your phone ring."

Holding up a finger for silence, Jasper hit several buttons and raised the phone to his ear silently. Still slightly concerned, Rowen leaned backwards against one of her hands and gave him an exasperated look of 'alright, I'm curious, I'll wait'.

For several minutes the line rang to the point that Rowen was pretty sure it would go to voice mail. It was only right before the sixth ring that the familiar click echoed down the line as the phone was picked up. Jasper spoke before the other person could though, cutting off any remarks the call's recipient might have had. "Phil, glad you're still awake."

Phil's voice came through the line a moment later, little more than an irritated huff. "I wasn't."

Of course, Phil. Great. The last thing she wanted was for Jasper to bother their friend. He'd had a rough enough time recently as it was; coming back from the dead was never an easy task. And she would know, she'd done it once herself. Well, she hadn't been completely dead, but it was a very, very close call.

Ignoring the clear irritation in their friend's voice, Jasper plowed forward as if it was perfectly reasonable to call someone at midnight when there weren't explosions or threats of explosions involved. "Perfect. Explain to Rowen why she got her own team."

With that, he shoved the phone against Rowen's ear before she could react. Blinking, she carefully took the device from Jasper's hand as she spoke, beyond confused. "Hello?"

The heavy sigh that came from Phil was predictable. There was no real reason to actually bother with pleasantries. "What's he babbling about?"

"I asked him why you gave me a team when I'm not a handler," explained Rowen with a groan, everything catching up to her as the reason for Jasper's strange actions finally clicked. "It was supposed to be rhetoric, not serious."

"You know rhetoric doesn't work on Jasper," remarked Phil with a sigh. "Remember the time he called Fury at 2 am to ask why he never smiles because of a joke someone made?"

"I'd forgotten about that," admitted Rowen, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry Phil, I really didn't think he would call someone over this, much less you."

A sigh came over the receiver, followed by the sound of someone shifting and a click of a light. "No, I'm glad he called despite the fact that no one should call anyone after midnight, ever, for any reason that doesn't involve a life-or-death scenario or jail. I don't want you to have any doubts about this, Rowen, so this is the deal. You got your own team because you aren't a translator alone, you're also a handler." If she didn't know better, she'd swear Phil and Jasper shared a brain sometimes.

"Phil, I don't do any of what you do," argued Rowen, a bit of frustration leaking into her voice. She was a translator, she translated things. She didn't handle people in the field; not unless she was feeding them information.

"Yes, you do," insisted Phil with a sigh. She could hear the edge of frustration in his voice. It was always frustrating for him when he couldn't get his message across to someone. "You play handler to Markson all the time on operations. You go into the field with him, you determine a viable strategy, and then you organize and adjust for new information. You make calls about if a mission can continue or if you need to abort. You do all of it except some of the more minor detail and paperwork elements that I'm going to train you through before my own team takes off. This isn't anything new to you, Rowen. You just think it's new because up until now you've operated under another title."

"But I've never done the paperwork a handler does," argued Rowen. It sounded like a reach to her, but it was true, too. He just said he needed to train her to do the paperwork and wasn't that half of a handler's job? Paperwork?

"I hand you almost all of the paperwork every time you come back from a mission," countered Phil. She could nearly hear the shrug in his voice. "You do the paperwork, you call the shots, you are a handler. Now stop worrying about it and go back to what I can only assume is drinking with Jasper."

Furrowing her brow a bit, Rowen shot Jasper a raised eyebrow. "How do you know we're drinking?"

"Because Jasper called me at midnight and he never calls without a reason past about ten unless there's shots and vodka involved," replied Phil. "How many has he had?"

"Whiskey, actually," corrected Rowen with a bit of a smile. "Maybe four. Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out what the probability of me getting any sleep tonight is," replied Phil. "Jasper always starts drunkenly texting me after about six to eight shots."

Shaking her head, Rowen glanced at Jasper pointedly, who just grinned innocently back like he didn't know exactly what they're talking about. He threw back another shot too, smirking a bit as he did. His look said it all: 'You know exactly what I do'.

Rolling her eyes in response, Rowen tucked the phone against her shoulder and poured another shot for herself. "I'll make sure he doesn't get his phone back. Go back to bed."

"Take it after I speak with Jasper," countered Phil. "I'm going to chew him out for this."

"Alright Phil, I'm passing you back now," stated Rowen with a faint smirk. "Sleep well." Shifting her expression to a perfectly neutral one, Rowen passed the phone back to Jasper and mouthed 'he wants to talk with you'.

Jasper took the phone back without flinching, pressing the speaker button instead of returning it to his ear. "Want to come join us?"

"Jasper, it's midnight," replied Phil, his voice slightly distorted by the speaker. "Am I on speaker phone?"

Ignoring the question, Jasper glanced at the time on his phone in surprise. "Huh, that early? Thought it was later. So, is that a yes?"

A moment of silence hung in the air as Jasper waited for a response from his superior and friend. The click of a disconnecting phone was all that either of them heard in response. Jasper just started laughing, which sparked Rowen's own chuckle. A chuckle that turned into a laugh when Jasper fell over. They managed to stop laughing a few minutes later, both of them sitting up slowly and catching their breath.

When he could finally speak again, Jasper refilled and raised his glass. "I think we're going to drive Phil insane."

"We haven't already?" challenged Rowen, smirking slightly. "You really aren't going to call him, though. He does need his sleep."

"Scouts honor," assured Jasper, raising his hand in a gesture Rowen wasn't familiar with.

Shaking her head, she furrowed her brow slightly. "Do human scouts have an honor code?"

Blinking, Jasper shook his head slowly. "How have you been in this country for eight years and not know who the scouts are?"

"Because I have no need to contact a scout?" suggested Rowen. "I'm considered one of the best hunters and scouts in my clan. Why would I have any need to enlist the aid of another scout?"

Jasper blinked once, then twice. Then tilted his head a bit like a confused animal. "Wait, what do you mean by a scout?"

"A scout is an individual skilled in the utilization of stealth through potentially treacherous areas who can gather information, retrieve objects, or remove enemies silently if necessary," explained Rowen, furrowing her brow a bit. "Do you define a scout differently?"

For another moment, Jasper blinked in confusion until his eyes suddenly lit up with understanding. "You mean _that_ kind of scout!"

Balking slightly, Rowen offered her friend a raised eyebrow while simultaneously giving him the 'you are mad' look she'd perfected for Jasper specifically. "What type of scout did you think I meant?"

"You know, a scout," explained Jasper, rubbing his head slightly like he was trying to pull out a proper definition. "A kid, either male or female and always under 18, who learns survival and life skills through study with other kids in groups called troupes."

It was Rowen's turn to blink in confusion. "Do they not hunt alone?"

"They don't usually hunt," elaborated Jasper with a shrug. "It's usually gathering edible plants, how to make a splint out of sticks and string, the best way to make a lanyard, things like that."

"I don't understand," insisted Rowen with a shake of her head. "What does any of that have to do with survival training?"

Jasper shrugged. "When you find out, let me know."

Rolling her eyes, Rowen picked up the bottle and shook it a little. "Another shot?"

"Yes," stated Jasper simply, offering her his glass.

Half an hour later, a knock echoed through the apartment. Both agent's tensed at the noise, Jasper reaching for his gun where it's resting near by and Rowen slipping a blade out of her couch. Even when drunk, Jasper was one hell of a shot. However, a sniff of the air told Rowen they won't be needing his skills tonight- thankfully. Sliding the knife back into its hiding place, she climbed steadily to her feet with a furrowed brow. Getting a visit from anyone who wasn't Jasper this late at night was abnormal.

"It's not a threat, Jas," assured Rowen calmly as she made her way to the door. She was completely steady on her feet, despite having had as many shots as Jasper. Which was probably good, because answering the door while wavering would probably be bad. Opening the door, Rowen gave her visitor a concerned look. "Something wrong, Phil?"

"Hey Phil," shouted Jasper before Phil could reply, waving loopily at the other agent. "Decide to join us?"

Phil sighed, shaking his head. "I couldn't sleep."

"Right," murmured Rowen, pinching the bridge of her nose and stepping aside. "Come in, please. Might as well make this a party."

"Parties are fun," laughed Jasper, waving his drink a bit. "Grab a drink!"

The older agent stopped slightly inside, just enough that Rowen could shut the door. "How much has he had to drink?"

"Eight shots," replied Rowen with a shake of her head. "I hid the bottle already, don't worry."

"You know him too well," remarked Phil, eying Jasper where he was grinning at the two of them from the living room floor. Turning to Rowen, he dropped his voice a bit. "Is there anything actually left?"

"Plenty," assured Rowen, equally quiet. "Though if Jasper asks, we drank it all."

One of Phil's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Will he believe that?"

"Probably not," admitted Rowen with a shrug. "It's what I always tell him when I'm cutting him off though. He'll whine for a bit, offer to go get more, then pass out on my couch or floor, whichever is closer."

Phil's other eyebrow rose to join the first, the surprise and concern clear on his face. "You two have a routine for this?"

Rolling her eyes a bit, Rowen gave Phil a 'how often do you think this happens?' look. "A routine born out of four years of drinking together maybe once every other month. We don't do this often."

"So, what makes tonight so special?" asked Phil, his concern replaced with clear curiosity.

"Promotions, demotions, and new team assignments warrant special treatment," explained Rowen.

Before Phil could ask anything else, Jasper broke into the conversation from the floor. "Would you two stop plotting to make babies and get over here? I feel like a loser drinking alone."

The look of exasperation Rowen threw at Jasper sent the drunken man into peels of laughter, which probably meant Phil was giving him the same exact look. A quick side glance at the other agent confirmed that. Despite the fact that they both look like they're contemplating duct tape or murder (and the look Phil quickly gives Rowen actually _is_ his 'where's the duct tape?' look), Jasper kept cackling at his own little joke as if he wasn't risking bodily harm.

After a minute, Rowen gave up on the idea of glaring Jasper into submission and headed to the kitchen, motioning for Phil to follow. Jasper was laughing so hard he didn't even notice, and Rowen was counting on that to avoid any more bad sex jokes. She loved Jasper like a brother (the man really was like a sibling to her), but he could be about as mature as a little kid when he'd had more than a four shots.

Ducking into the small space, she snagged her last shot glass and offered it to Phil along with the open bottle of whiskey. "You might want to take a few shots now, before you go back in there. Not that Jasper is likely to stay awake for much longer, but he's surprised me before."

"Jasper is full of surprises," agreed Phil, taking the offered glass and pouring himself a shot. It was definitely the safest course of action for Jasper; Phil might kill him otherwise (not really, but the duct tape threat would be executed). He glanced towards the doorway as the laughter in the living room finally died down before turning his focus completely on Rowen. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," assured Rowen easily. "A few shots of Whiskey aren't going to knock me over."

Chuckling faintly, Phil threw back his first shot and grimaced a bit. "Funny, but not what I meant."

Sighing, Rowen nodded a bit as she dropped against the counter. "Honestly? I'm a bit scared. I've never had to lead a team like this before."

"But you've led before," caught on Phil, apparently taking her wording as a sign of experience. Which, well, yes, she had experience leading people. Lots of experience, none of which Phil will ever know about. Leading...was something she'd done before. She hadn't done it in years, not in a large scale capacity since she nearly died, but she knew how to lead. The skills were still in her head and she called upon them occasionally when she needed to move someone around in the field. No, it wasn't the actual leadership role that was worrying her.

"Plenty of times," admitted Rowen, leaving it at that. "It's the idea of leading this group for SHIELD that has me on edge. I've never lead a SHIELD team before. There are rules and regulations I know I don't know, and that scares me."

Phil shook his head slightly, pouring another shot before offering it to Rowen. "Drink. And you'll be fine. This group isn't a hard one to lead and you know more than you think you do." She throw back the shot during the pause in Phil's little speech, hearing his sigh as she did. His eyes caught and held hers as he said his next bit. "If I didn't think you were capable of doing this, I wouldn't have pushed for you to lead this team. Jasper is good, but he has other responsibilities and I've been saying for years that your leadership skills could be invaluable to us. This is the chance for you to put those skills to work."

Looking down to their glasses, she poured another shot for Phil. "I guess I'm just nervous is all."

"Don't be," assured Phil, throwing back the shot quickly with a slight wince. "I promise, you'll do fine."

"Thank you, Phil," thanked Rowen quietly, keeping her eyes averted elsewhere. She found his unwavering support a bit...startling. Offering the man the bottle once more, she took a moment to glance into the living room to check on Jasper. Unsurprisingly, he was laying on the floor, passed out.

She felt more than heard as Phil shifted around behind her, joining her at the door frame. "Is Jasper passed out?"

"Yes," confirmed Rowen quietly, shaking her head a bit. "He always does this. At least his pants are on this time."

One of Phil's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Jasper lost his pants in your house once?"

"More than once," corrected Rowen with a chuck. "And who said it was inside my home? We found them on the fire escape once, two floors up, with a note written in lipstick in a pocket."

"And you're sure he's gay?" questioned Phil, shaking his head a bit.

Rowen just nodded. "Positive. If anyone would know, it's me."

"Then he's the luckiest gay man ever," grumbled Phil. "I wish I could loose my pants and find lipstick notes in the pockets."

A touch of a smirk twitched onto Rowen's lips. "I could arrange that."

Groaning faintly, Phil turned an uneasy look on Rowen. "I don't mean in the vent system nor am I talking about a note from Barton."

"Phil, half of SHIELD wouldn't mind getting into your pants," pointed out Rowen, stating it as fact while turning back into the kitchen. He might be blind about the way nearly_every_ woman and quite a few men at SHIELD stared at him, but Rowen wasn't. She had even been among them the few times she saw him in the standard tac suit. Knowing him outside of work took some of the fun out of it though. "I could find someone to steal your pants and leave a note inside."

"Or you could just do it yourself," added Phil. His voice sounded a bit strange as he spoke. Maybe a touch hopeful? She wasn't sure why he'd want her to steal his pants though.

"Yes, but if I do it, you won't like where you find them," remarked Rowen, shaking her head as she moved into the living room after grabbing the open bottle of whiskey. She dropped the bottle on the dining table she kept more for working than eating before moving to stand over Jasper's unconscious body. "Can you help me get him on the couch?"

One of Phil's eyebrows popped up, even as he moved to stand beside her over Jasper's prone form. "Why don't you just leave him there?"

"Because then he bitches about his back," countered Rowen as she stared down at the sleeping Jasper. The urge to find a sharpie was strong.

"Do you have a sharpie?" asked Phil, as if reading Rowen's mind. It would have been startling if it didn't happen so often. The three of them should probably spend less time together, but the fact was they all enjoyed freaking out the new recruits by pretending to be able to reach each other's minds.

"Somewhere," confirmed Rowen, her eyes darting to her friend. There's a devious smile slipping across his face and she just knows the beginning of her own devious smile (the one her mother says is identical to her father's) is sliding over her own lips. "Why?"

"Tradition," replied Phil dismissively, though he didn't elaborate. Which probably means Jasper will wake up with his face covered in sharpie doodles tomorrow. It serves him right; Rowen has no intention of stopping Phil after Jasper woke him up.

"Help me get him on the couch and I'll see what I can find," offered Rowen, bending to get her arms under Jasper's shoulders. Phil grabbed their friend's legs and together they managed to hoist the other agent onto the couch. Well, sort of. One of his legs ended up hanging off the side and his head looked like it was at an uncomfortable angel, but as he didn't immediately move, they assumed he was alright. Plus he wouldn't choke if he threw up, though Rowen had never seen it happen. The stories that went through the recruits about people choking on their own vomit scared her though. Humans were so squishy sometimes...

"We should probably be worried that he sleeps that heavily," remarked Phil, staring at Jasper in clear concern.

Shaking her head, Rowen smirked a bit. "You can't talk. When you've had this much, you turn into a potato sack."

"Sack of potatoes," corrected Phil automatically, his brow furrowing a bit. "Why have Jasper and I never had to move you out of an awkward position while drunk?"

"Because I can drink you both under the table," replied Rowen, as if this fact was apparent. Mentally, she began wracking her brain for the location of her lone sharpie. She only owned one for this exact purpose.

Phil shook his head, a slight scowl in place as he dropped onto the arm of the couch where Jasper's head wasn't resting. "Curse your Irish blood."

"Well it has to be good for something," remarked Rowen as she headed for the kitchen to root around inside her random junk drawer. It was barren enough that she was able to find the sharpie with ease; there were only a few rubber bands, a pen, and a couple of papers clips than came from who knew where to vie for the space. Emerging a moment later with her lost sharpie, she tottered it a bit in her hand, holding it out to Phil. "Ready for some fun at Jas' expense?"

"The man called me at midnight while drunk," countered Phil, taking the sharpie and uncapping it with one hand. "What do you think?"

The first thing Rowen was aware of as she awoke the next morning was the sound of someone stumbling around her apartment. As there were two different men currently sleeping there besides herself, this wasn't such a surprise. What was surprising was the fact it was nearly 6 am and she wasn't expecting either up until at least 8. Thank Jord for the weekends. Normally, she wouldn't have time off, nor would Jasper or Phil. But Phil was still technically recovering and Jasper, well, if he showed up late on a weekend, he probably wouldn't get chewed out unless there was an emergency. Or he'd been given the weekend off, that was possible too. He had just been deployed less than a week ago, so he might still be on mandatory leave.

Something scrapped slightly on the ground along with an 'omph', drawing Rowen's attention back to the person stumbling around her living room. A glance to her right confirmed it wasn't Phil- he was still asleep next to her. Well, not asleep: she could see the tension in his form. Probably, the stumbling had woken him up. That meant it was probably Jasper, though for safety's sake she should check. If she didn't, Phil probably would.

Sliding out of her bed, she grabbed one of her knives, just in case, and turned to look at Phil. His eyes were open, jumping between her and the door. Silently, she gave him their 'I'm checking on it' hand gesture (a finger at herself and then at the door where the noise had come from) before she slipped to her cracked open bedroom door.

Sure enough, she caught sight of the lumbering figure that could only be Jasper just as he tripped over what looked like a pillow and face planted into the couch. For a beat, there was no noise before a groan cut through the room. It was a sound she knew all too well, and had the remedy for.

Sighing, Rowen set her knife back where it was with a calm "It's just Jasper" to Phil and headed into the living room. Jasper didn't move as she walked around the couch towards the kitchen. Nor did he budge as she came back in a moment later with water and painkillers. Rolling her eyes (because really, the man's been shot and hangovers are not worse than that), she nudged him with her foot as she spoke. "Turn over."

With a groan and a motion that looked more like a fish flopping around on land than a grown SHIELD agent turning over, Jasper managed to situate himself so he was a) sitting on the ground flat and b) looking up at Rowen. Which nearly caused Rowen to burst into laughter. Jasper's face was covered in doodled flowers and butterflies, all of which surrounded a Captain America shield sketched dead center on his forehead. It was worse in some ways than if someone had drawn penis', though that particular symbol had less meaning with Jasper.

As things stood, she managed to just give him a smile and hand him the water and painkillers. The sound of additional footsteps, these measured and stable, drew Rowen's eyes back toward her bedroom. Phil was leaning on the door frame, still dressed in his tee-shirt from the previous night and having pulled on his jeans again.

Nodding to Jasper, he smirked slightly at the other agent. "This is what you get, Jas."

"Ha ha," replied Jasper, his hands remaining wrapped around the glass in his lap. "Like you've never done this."

"And you've rubbed it in my face," countered Phil, shaking his head. "Ranger birthday with Fury, remember?"

"How do you even remember that?" groaned Jasper, leaning his head back against the couch cushions. "You were three sheets to the wind when I picked you up and barely moving the next morning."

"Magic," countered Phil with a roll of his eyes.

Lifting his head again to glare at Phil, he seemed to make some kind of a mental leap because suddenly his pained expression turned into a smirk. Well, it was for a second at least. "So, you slept with Rowen last night, huh?"

Rowen just rolled her eyes at that point, turning towards the kitchen. She's heard that argument before and wasn't about to be drawn into it. Let Phil defend his actions- Jas knew nothing happened; he's just trying to provoke Phil. Listening to the two men bicker, she calmly went about setting the kettle on for tea and just tried not to think about the fact that, come Monday, she would be leading a group of agents who would be looking to her for guidance. Guidance she would have to give when her own experience with SHIELD was chaotic at minimum. At least she had back up.

Even if her back up did pass out on the floor of her apartment drunk. And drew sharpie flowers on their friend's faces. On second thought, she might be better off with her new agents.


End file.
